Fire and Gold
by LightTheFlame
Summary: When Lucy, the beautiful daughter of the town's miller, and a mysterious young man, with magic to spin hay into golden thread find themselves in debt of one another, everything begins to fall into place. Rumpelstiltskin AU. T.
**Note: My first NaLu story on here! It's not my very first story (believe me - that one was scary) but I've loved NaLu ever since I started watching Fairy Tail, and love them even more so in the manga! SO EXCITED FOR TODAY'S EPISODE. Too bad I'm going out today, but EEK. **

**This story is a crossover between Fairy Tail and a well-known fairy tale known as Rumpelstiltskin, and I sincerely hope you won't be disappointed!**

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"You bet my shins she can!" An old man with dashing violet hair croaked, his mug raised in the air. "She's a proud member of the Heartfilia family!"

"Oh, is that so, Cana-san?" Another man, with young, sharp features and a voice you would normally call 'deceptively smooth' mused to the brunette beside him.

"What do you take me for, Your Highness?" She gurgled childishly, taking another mouthful of beer, froth foaming at her lips. "Every word we've said is true."

The young man hummed, stroking his chin with mock thoughtfulness. He turned to his manservant beside him, and said, "Fetch the girl. We're taking her with us."

At his words Lucy rushed toward her cupboard and frantically searched. The floorboards she had been listening through earlier creaked as she paced back and forward, looking for her precious possessions she would never give away.

She wouldn't exactly call her parents possessions, nor precious, as they just dealt their daughter away to a respected royalty for a skill she had never had the idea for. It was physically impossible for hay to turn into gold; why were her parents doing this? Yes, perhaps they were drunk, so maybe she should forgive them—no! She had given them too many chances, too many opportunities… this was the last straw. Grabbing her purse and the ring she'd left on her dressing table, she didn't feel guilty in the least, for a small part of her was eager to leave this home.

She found herself gazing out the shiny glass windows of the carriage. Occasionally she snuck a glance at the handsome young Prince whom she found so striking, with pale strands hanging over his unblemished face, and slightly tanned skin hidden by a coat of midnight edged with gold. His cold blue eyes flashed over when he noticed her once, and if he had not looked so distracted she would have probably started a conversation with him.

The palace came into sight. Her heart thumped in her chest. Normally she wouldn't have ever dreamed she would get within a hundred meters of this holy sanctuary, and now she was embracing it just as that of visiting a friend's house. A sudden pang took place in her heart when she remembered her blunette friend back in town; she would certainly miss talking about books with her.

A footman opened the door, and she timidly stepped out, looking into his charming eyes, hidden by azure-tinted glasses. He flashed a smile, but after seeing the disapproving look on the Prince's face as he followed after her, the smile vanished. She wanted to look back at the Prince and scowl, but her breath hitched unceremoniously when his cold eyes had the exact opposite effect on her: they made her melt.

The palace was grand indeed, and she passed by many doors, but none of them were grander than the Grand Ballroom. It was a spotless, gleaming, more with an intimidating aura than a majestic one. But she longed one day to be there, whirling about in a perfect gown, her hair done up and her face radiant, falling into a waltz with a handsome gentleman… and that handsome gentleman so happened to be the Prince himself. She bashed herself internally, aware that he was looking at her from behind. If she had not been so caught up, so taken with him! He was arrogant, a snob, not even knowing how to greet her when she saw him (which was supposed to be the other way around, but we figure that since she did not greet him, he did not greet her either), and yet… she couldn't let him slip through her fingers. He was the perfect image of a Prince, royal and regal, and she wondered what would happen if somehow she would be able to spin that hay into gold. Would he make her his queen? That would've been beyond her imagination. She almost swooned, backing into a suit of armor and nearly sending it tumbling. Her brown eyes caught his gaze again, and as much as she tried to stay away, her gaze fixated, and she noticed a cross right above his right eye. At this discovery her hands left the armor she was straightening, and she turned quickly, trying to hide the faint blush spreading across her face.

They entered the dining room. She and the Prince ate in silence, each of them focused on what was left on their plates. Lucy in fact was more focused on wondering where they—he—would take her next. If there was spinning to do, wouldn't there be a royal tailoring room? She figured it had to be there. She was so focused on what she would do in there, trying to find ways to spin hay into gold when stars began to dance ever so gaily before her eyes. Her drink swirled in her glass, and she slumped into a dead faint as the glass crashed to the floor.

She found herself on a hard stone floor, and rubbing her sore back, she regained her bearings and adjusted her vision. The room she was in smelt of dust and a faint scent of a country farm, and her surroundings had yet to be shed light on. Groping around aimlessly in the dark, she finally managed to stand and glance around once again.

A flicker of a flame danced right near the corner of the room. She made a beeline there, straightening her arms out in front and feeling around for objects to move and things to avoid, and when she reached it, she saw bars.

Iron bars, thick as steel.

Her heart muttered a quick prayer as to what she was seeing. Clutching the bars as if they were her last lifeline, she yelled out down the abandoned corridor. Torches flickered, iron rattled, and then suddenly there was the sound of a key jangling from a belt and the click-clack of boots on the ground.

When she caught a glimpse of shiny boots round the bend, she wanted to give herself the once-over at once. It was stupefying, the effect he had on her, and she knew she was not supposed to feel this way around him, so she refrained.

His pale blue eyes caught on hers maliciously, accompanied by a hint of evil triumph glinting in his perfect smirk. The cross above his right eye gazed at her, warning her to stay away if she ever had a plan of escaping.

She yelled at him for a reason. The only answer she got was a cruel laugh and an oil lamp and match thrown at her feet, and then the sound of footsteps returning upstairs from the dungeon she was locked in.

She struck the match on the cold stone wall and lit the lamp. At this she gasped.

Hay. Lots and lots of hay.

In extreme desperation Lucy kicked another baleful of hay, sending it flying and watching it float back to the ground like dandelions. It had been three hours since she'd been captured and locked up in this cell, with ridiculous amounts of hay to spin into gold. As if she would believe in silly tales. It seemed the Prince did, though, and she figured he only wanted to get richer. As if all the gold and riches of his weren't enough.

With a pang she realized she missed her family. True, Macao and Cana were constantly drunk but they never did do anything bad to her while they were, unlike some parents of some that she had heard of. They were always kind and loving before they developed their shared love of alcohol, but even then they had treated her moderately and as how they would treat a daughter.

But then, what sort of parents would send their child off to pull an impossible feat for royalty knowing that she was going to end up guillotined by tomorrow's sunrise? Perhaps they really did have a bit too much of a pint. Nevertheless, they were her parents; nothing could make her forget them and the gratitude she bore toward them for raising her… only to leave her alone for her demise.

She did the only thing that seemed reasonable at the time: she sat in a dark corner of the room and cried. Knees hugged firmly to her chest, the tears streamed freely down her cheeks. She could let go now. There was no one here she wanted to impress, so she could let her guard down and stop being strong for just a moment.

The stupid Prince. She didn't want to impress him, and at this point began to despise him; he would go to all these lengths for more gold. Angry tears spurted as if wildfire from her eyes and she vowed that if she were to die tomorrow morning, the last thing she would ever do was to kidnap the Prince and throw him in a well. At least she had two things to die for then.

Anger turned to despair. Did she really bore the will to die for her parents? Not as if they had done anything to help her. Nonetheless, she would bear them in mind when she placed her neck on the guillotine.

Her eyes trailed to the lonely spinning wheel that had been used numerous times but produced no effect. She had tried different angles of inserting the hay, from this side and from that, but to no avail. She even tried to change the wheel to work in a different manner, but nothing seemed to work. She'd slumped to the floor in defeat, tired, hungry, and alone.

She might even die in this cell before sunrise. At least that'll give the townspeople something to talk about. She smirked.

Thinking about all the terrible fates that she could insert the Prince in seemed endless, and the more she thought about it, the more hope sparked in her heart. Instead of hurling the spinning wheel across the room, she set to work again, trying concepts and ideas she'd never had until now.

It was four in the morning. The sun was about to emerge above the hills. Lucy clenched her fists, braced herself and kicked the damned spinning wheel as hard as she could. The spinning wheel soared across the cell and landed in a pile of hay that she had been trying to work on, and lay there for a moment or two before a sudden sound startled her.

There was a click, then a snap, and suddenly a stamp of a foot so loud she was sure it would wake the entire palace up. And then the metal bars parted, and on the floor loomed a gigantic shadow.

She had the right to be afraid when she backed into her corner, watching the shadow approach her with soundless footsteps. She held her breath and closed her eyes. _Maybe sunrise came early,_ she thought, _and I'm done for. God help me._

"Praying for a miracle?"

Instead of the Prince's cold, metallic voice, it was a warm, soothing, cheerful voice, not at all cynical.

She fluttered her eyes open.

Before her stood a man of average height, onyx eyes glaring at her in the dark of the cell, dressed in clothes of fabric considered fine in the village she lived in. On his feet were boots of leather and by his side hung a satchel of the same material. She could hardly make out the color of his hair, but perhaps she only wanted to kid herself: she was sure it was pink.

The most striking thing about him was his smile. It was a toothy grin, and it seemed as if light shone from it as if to encourage her to look into all the bright places. She felt her heart catch in her ribcage when she caught sight of it.

He extended a tanned, calloused hand, prompting her to take it. Wordlessly she placed her own in his, and he pulled her to her feet, where she stood stunned and had to gain her breath back in several moments.

"Who are you?" was what she asked when she had calmed her mind and heart. It was only two hours till sunrise, so there could be no harm to talk to a stranger before you die.

The man immediately took on an air of aloofness, crossing a leg over the other and inspecting his fingernails as if they were the most interesting thing in the room. "I'm sorry for not giving you the pleasure of my name, but I can tell you I make good deals… and I'm sure that I can help you, given your fate at sunrise. I promise I could help you in your dilemma, if you would take my offer."

His talking was slow, cool, smooth, but it was a good kind of smooth. It was a lot of business talk, but Lucy felt sure he was trying to help her, given her situation and whatnot.

"What… will you give me?" she replied unsurely. He laughed, a warm chuckle deep from the throat.

"That's my line, missy." He unhooked his satchel and withdrew a piece of parchment. "Let's see… Lucy Heartfilia, spinning hay into gold. That you?"

She was so taken aback by his reply she drew back noticeably. He apparently caught sight of this, because he spoke in a tone softer than his usual, "Don't be afraid. I'm only here to help."

Her heart fluttered, and she relaxed eventually. "You'll help me spin these into gold? But it's impossible!"

"Nothing's impossible if you put your mind to it, instead of curling up in a ball and sulking," he mused, earning a glare from the blonde. "Oh, I forgot: nothing's truly impossible if you put your mind to it and work a little magic while you're at it."

Magic? She feared he was out of his mind. There wasn't any such thing as magic…

"What do you want in return?"

.

Lucy watched in awe as he weaved the hay through and spun, gold coming out the other side. It was nearly sunrise, but there was only a small patch of hay left in the stony room. Daylight fell through the shaft in the dungeon cell, illuminating his tanned, relaxed face as he hummed a tiny tune as he fed the hay through once again.

She had asked him numerous times if he was tired and wanted her to take over, but he always declined, saying she wouldn't know how to do it exactly, so she watched, sometimes silently, sometimes muttering softly as he scurried about with his routine: pick up hay, feed it through, fit the gold into spools. Gleaming gold thread shone in the first rays of sunlight; their glimmer was prettier than even that of gems and diamonds.

He had made many a good previous deals before he met her, and he said they'd always come out successful. And it seemed that this deal was another success as he fed the last of the hay and spun.

"And there it is!" He exclaimed in triumph. Lucy glanced at the spools; she had been so fascinated at the magic of it all that she still couldn't bear the thought of giving all of it away, since it was someone else's hard work.

And the thought of him leaving devastated her, but she had yet to realize that.

She reached into her pocket and fished out her ring. "A promise is a promise," she said, placing the ring into his open palm. The gemstone, a sapphire, sparkled in the sun.

He pocketed just as she had done and smiled his toothy smile. "A deal's a deal, isn't it?" His smile took on a mournful look. "Well, I must get going."

Before she could yell out for him to stop and don't go, he clicked his heels, snapped his fingers and stamped his booted foot. In an instant he was gone, leaving not one trace behind.

When the Prince entered the dungeon at morning, he was surprised to hear nothing from the cell containing the girl who was supposed to spin gold the other day. Ha, he had thought at the time. Spinning gold was nothing more than just a bunch of silly tales made up by a drunken couple, but everyone he executed knew that to be guillotined under the prince's order was a privilege most people don't get every time.

He was convinced he would hear her bawling from the dining room, but as he approached the cell he began to worry. What If she'd escaped in the night? No one ever escapes under the gaze of the prince's guard.

He sped up his pace and reached her cell, turning the key ever so urgently in the lock.

She was poised on her wooden stool, back to him. She hesitated before turning to him.

"I heard you coming in," she said, all trace of formality in her voice gone, an edge replacing it. "My task is done."

At first the prince was confused. Then he saw what was behind her and his mouth gaped.

Spools of beautiful gold glistened in the dim light of the sun. He couldn't take his eyes off it as he advanced, taking a spool and running his finger across the thread. It was soft, unlike the coarse hay she had been given.

This girl must be a godsend.

He turned to her, and she was astonished to see that his sharp features were gone, and before her was a shining face, the kind you see when someone sees something they like. She didn't know how to feel about this, but the knot in her stomach tightened.

Immediately his face returned to that of regality, and he spoke. "Guards, take this up for a testing. You, come with me." With that he exited the cell calmly, even though his heart was jumping for joy inside.

Lucy breathed a sigh. The Prince hadn't mentioned anything of weighing the gold, and that was indeed a relief. For if he did, he'd definitely discover that he was a little on the lesser side. Lucy patted her pocket to check if that last spool of golden thread was still there, and then ambled after him.

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 **And there is a three-thousand-word chapter for you lovelies! This was something I had been working on in secret but I really wanted to experiment with this idea and see how it would turn out! The story is basically the same: a young girl finds herself in debt to a strange geezer after he helps her turn straw into gold. I changed straw into hay—since it sounded nicer. But well!**

 **This story will have two parts, and is more of like a filler story while I try to gather up my other fairy tale crossover, Tale as Old as Time (a MelBeth story, please check it out!) And rest assured, I have lots of other fairy tale ideas, all with my own personal (unique?) twist!**

 **Thank you so much for reading! I've been itching to post this, but since it might seem a little long I decided to separate it into two parts. I'm very close to finishing it though, so stay tuned!**

 **-Mint-chan.**


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